


Until Morning Light

by LuckyBossuet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet, CoS, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, the fic is not sad tho, we know what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/pseuds/LuckyBossuet
Summary: Grantaire tries to provide a peaceful space for Enjolras, Enjolras appricates more than Grantaire knows
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: Sewerchat Anniversary Exchange 2020





	Until Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boom_goes_the_canon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_goes_the_canon/gifts).



Enjolras is the bolder of the pair, Grantaire knows. He is the one who speaks out in public, who runs meetings, goes against the governments, the monarchy.

Grantaire attends, but he attends for his friends, and for his muse.

Enjolras is his love, his life. He would lay it all down for the man if it meant keeping him safe.

He expressed this once, when they lay in bed, away from the world, and Enjolras looked him deep in his eyes, penetrating his soul and said, “Please don’t.”

He sounded scared, so Grantaire kissed his love’s knuckles and promised, “As you wish.”

Grantaire never promised to allow him to be hurt alone.

So he continues to attend rallies. Though his politics may not match the ideals, he has more than plenty of reasons to hope nothing goes awry. He keeps more violent looking spectators away, they cannot be arrested, cannot risk it.

He ensures Enjolras has somewhere to despair and a place to try and come out of it. He may not be able to do that for himself some days, but he does all he can for Enjolras. He can at least try.

He can hold him and murmur nothing and everything when it all seems too much. He can rub his thumb along Enjolras’ palm when the challenges, when changing people’s minds, the national guard, when the law seems too much to overcome. 

He reminds him of Theseus, who defeated a great beast with the aid of those who cared about him, and that Les Amis will act as his string and his Medea, “Though, I hope, our tale will end with less murder and betrayal.”

Grantaire is inordinately proud of the smile he receives for that.

Grantaire holds Enjolras. They’re both wary of who knows of their relations, it may have been legal since the end of the last century, but there are still many who frown upon it. 

In this space they are safe, however. In this bed, they do not fear. Grantaire’s landlady does not enter rooms without knocking, and in the bedroom, it is easy enough to look platonic, or to hide Enjolras in the closet if the situation is that dire.

Grantaire runs his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, a privilege he revels in, and earns a small relaxed sigh for his efforts, Enjolras shifting closer.

Enjolras moves his hand from where it had been hanging from the bed to run a finger lightly up Grantaire’s bare arm, making goosebumps rise along the path it takes, before settling on the hand that’s not in his hair, bringing it to his lips, like a blessing or a promise. 

What is promised Grantaire can’t guess, but he knows that he feels blessed to have this man with him. To have had Enjolras pliant under him, controlled and sure above him brings him a joy he does not feel worthy of, but even that doesn’t compare to having Enjolras happy with him, to simply be. This, he thinks, would be a good way to live.

Enjolras seems to agree.

He feels Enjolras’ breath slow and his fingers relax, not holding, but not quite letting go. 

Grantaire resists squirming as Enjolras lets out another deep sigh, this one causing Enjolras’ breath to tickle his neck.

“Nuisance,” he whispers fondly, careful not to wake the sleeping man. Enjolras so rarely sleeps through the night, instead staying up to read essays, or write them himself, when he isn’t planning speeches and the overthrowing of the monarchy.

He moves his hand from Enjolras’ hair to his back, drawing circles against Enjolras’ shirt, just enough pressure that he knows Enjolras can feel it but not enough to wake him. He wishes he could wipe away the worry that creases Enjolras’ brow when he wakes, but for now he will gladly settle for chasing away whatever dreams disturb him when they don’t hold each other through the night, for bribing Enjolras with kisses and gentle touches, accompanied by warm filling food, when he forgets to eat, or believes himself too busy to do so, for pulling their group’s Chief away from work, away from the world, and allowing him rest. To give him permission to sleep, to relax, to forget the world outside, the tragedy and injustices of Paris and allow a small slice of peace to come through.

“They say ‘all is fair in love and war’, perhaps that is true, we have certainly experienced the former, and in ‘30 we certainly had a brush with the latter, though we did not know each other then.

“If we had you would not recognise me now, for both I and my face have changed some since before that day. Perhaps, though, if you had known me then we would have done this sooner. 

“But one cannot stray and sit in the past, lest it swallow you whole. No, it will pull you into the dark depths into which time goes when it has left, and soon you will despair so that the only place you can find a path to will be the throne of Hades, which is a place I would rather not see myself just yet, and fear for the day it is your time to arrive at his feet.” 

Grantaire presses a kiss to Enjolras’ hair and allows himself to follow Enjolras into Morpheus’ embrace.

  
  


Enjolras smiles at the kiss. He learned recently of Grantaire’s habit of speaking into the dark of night, by accident of course, when he was woken by too much pressure. Grantaire had frozen, as had Enjolras, then decided that Enjolras must have merely shifted, before continuing his speech.

He had been awestruck and decided that, when he felt the world too keenly, when it seemed nigh impossible, even with the others, he would feign sleep, just to hear Grantaire’s normally rough voice soften and, gently, speak of things that he never would have, had he known Enjolras was awake. 

One night he had even recounted a myth, though Enjolras had  _ truly _ fallen asleep before its end, he wanted to believe that the boy and his father escaped the tower, but from other myths Grantaire had inexplicably memorised he doubted this to be the case.

It was nice to hope though, to hope that Grantaire’s mind wasn’t only filled with fears and worry and uncertainty.

Though recently, in private at least, Grantaire smiles more, initiates things more, even just accepts Enjolras’ kisses and touches more easily. He thinks on their small space that they’ve carved out, just for the two of them, in Grantaire’s rooms, in Enjolras’ own rooms, and smiles.

The two men lie together, sleeping and at peace, content to stay until the day calls, until morning light.


End file.
